


When You Call Me Baby

by badboy_fangirl



Series: Incidents in the Life of Lincoln Burrows [4]
Category: Prison Break
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 17:04:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10575690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badboy_fangirl/pseuds/badboy_fangirl
Summary: Lisa leaves Lincoln. He's not having it.





	

Veronica wasn't all that surprised when Michael Scofield showed up on her doorstep shortly after one o'clock. She had known when Lincoln left the day before that he wouldn't be back, despite his noble words of 'being there' for her in her time of grief. Seeing Michael's sheepish smile made her laugh and she opened the screen door so he could come in the house and into a waiting hug. "Hi," she said, the word muffled by his shoulder.   
  
His arms wrapped around her, sure and strong, and though it had only been a little over two months since she'd seen him, she thought he looked older. Filled out, mature. Something seemed slightly different with him. "I'm really sorry about your father," he murmured, and even his voice seemed deeper.   
  
She leaned back in his arms. Yes, Michael Scofield had grown up. Everything about him was older, and though he was still a bit younger than her, she found a new comfort in that. "Thanks," she replied. "Came to be my chauffeur, huh?"   
  
"Lincoln asked me. I was there when he got home last night, and when Lisa got home, even though it was the middle of the night, it hit the fan. They screamed and yelled at each other like I've never heard before. It was really ugly. He thought it was better if he didn't..."   
  
"I know. I knew when he left last night. You know, he and I keep having these dramatic goodbyes, but then we manage to get entangled in each other's lives all over again."   
  
"Fate?" Michael asked, an eyebrow raised.   
  
"Bad luck?" she asked back.   
  
"You're like magnets. You keep attracting each other. You can't help it."   
  
"Well, when you put it like that, that makes me feel better about it. I mean, if I can't control it, or help it, then why fight it, right?"   
  
Michael's eyes glinted, and he rested a hand on her shoulder. "Do you really try to fight it?"   
  
"Not when I'm with him. When I'm not with him, I do. I try to get over him, get past it, forget it."   
  
"But you can't."   
  
"I love him," she said simply.   
  
Michael nodded. "I know. And, if it's any consolation, he loves you. I don't know why he's made such a mess of things."   
  
"Trying to do the right thing. It was his moment of being like you."   
  
"Hey, I don't always do the right thing," his tone said he was slightly offended.   
  
"When have you ever done anything wrong?"   
  
He stopped, his eyes going north to the ceiling, as though searching for a misdeed. He didn't say anything.   
  
"My point exactly." She folded her arms over her chest and looked up at him. "You gonna take me to the hospital?"   
  
"Yes." The teasing light left his face. "I'm going to take care of you today. You're going to be all right, Veronica. No matter what happens. You'll never be alone." He reached for her hand and clasped it warmly in his own.   
  
Tears stung her eyes, and though it didn't happen often because the brothers were so different, she saw Lincoln clearly in Michael's stance and expression. "I know," she whispered.   
  


  
  


  
  
  
Because her father was stable and improving, though he hadn't come out of his coma yet, he had been moved from ICU to a regular room by the time Veronica and Michael arrived at the hospital. Dr. Romano arrived after being paged to explain that everything looked good, and that George's brain activity seemed to be increasing, another good sign. However there was some worry as to why he hadn't woken up yet, so Veronica was encouraged to spend as much time as she could there with him, talking to him.   
  
After a couple hours, Michael kindly demanded that she go with him for a beverage or something to eat, and she reluctantly left her father to do so. They sat in the cafeteria, Veronica glumly picking at the garden salad she'd selected while Michael bit into a turkey sandwich. "So, how's Loyola?" she asked, trying to get her mind off her father.    
  
Michael smiled around his food. "I love it," he said.   
  
"I can tell, you seem...different."   
  
"I met a girl."   
  
"Name?"   
  
"Anna. She's fantastic. But it's more than that. Should I really be telling you this? I mean shouldn't we talk about more important things?"   
  
"No, let's talk about things that don't matter."   
  
"Okay. So, I've never, you know, been away from Lincoln before, but he agreed I should live in the dorms, even though, you know, we live right here. He thought it would be better for him and Lisa, and so they moved outta the projects, did you know that?" Veronica shook her head. "They have a small apartment closer to her work, in a better neighborhood. Anyway, so ever since I've been living up there, it's just been...nice. I like the freedom, the space, no tension. Without Linc, you know, always sorta there, but not there. It's hard to explain."   
  
Veronica nodded because she knew what he meant. Lincoln was always worried about the next thing. He'd spent most of his life doing that, looking forward to the next thing he had to take care of, the next problem that had to be fixed, and he had that caged, contained energy of always looking ahead. With Michael in college, with Michael away from home, the tension would be gone. Because the final problem was solved regarding Michael, anyway.   
  
"When I see him now, with the exception of last night," he amended quickly, "it's just...okay. It almost feels like it did when Mom was still alive. Like he's just my brother. Not my guardian, not on the look out for what I might not be getting right because of—he's not worried anymore. He's more relaxed. We laugh." He set his half-finished sandwich on his plate and looked up at her. "You know, that's why I always wanted to be with you, or hang out with you with Lincoln because we laughed when were with you. It sucked when everything changed. But now it's changed on its own."   
  
"And I thought we were going to talk about things that don't matter," Veronica said, reaching a hand across the table to touch Michael's arm. "I never knew that, Michael. Thanks for telling me that." She smiled with her lips only, knowing that it would never be the three of them ever again. "I'm glad you found the laughter on your own together, though. That's important. My roommate, she's got a sister who's several years older than her and she told me that as she's gotten older they've grown towards each other, and now they're best friends. You'll probably have the same experience with Lincoln, now that you're getting older too."   
  
Michael shook his head. "I don't know about that." He cast a furtive glance around the nearly empty cafeteria. "You know Lincoln does...sells, he—"   
  
"I know," she said, when it was obvious that an almost empty room didn't make him feel safe in revealing Lincoln's indiscretions.   
  
"I figured you probably did. I found out by accident, one of the guys on my floor came back with pot one night and he told me where he got it and he described the dealer, and I just knew it was Lincoln. So I walked down there, to the place, and sure enough, it was him."   
  
"Did you confront him?" she asked, beginning to eat more of her salad as the conversation got deeper.   
  
"No. I wanted to, though. You know, he's got the same amount of money I do; Mom left us both the same amount, but he's out doing crap like that." He took a deep breath, staring at the table for moment before looking back into her eyes. "I didn't confront him, though, because I realized that's how we'd survived all those years. It finally made sense, the late nights, him taking off the way he did, but making sure I was in bed and ready for school the next day. It made me feel so guilty."   
  
"It's not your fault, Michael. Whatever Lincoln's choices are, they aren't your fault. It's hard, because we love him, but we have to accept things the way they are."   
  
"Is that what you tell yourself?" he asked skeptically.   
  
She smiled again, her eyes forlorn. "Every damn day."   
  


  
  


  
  
  
Two days later, George Donovan woke up, and he was completely fine. He agreed to diet changes and an exercise program that would help prevent a recurrence and got on blood pressure medication that he should have been taking for at least five years already. Veronica cried with relief and joy and climbed up on the bed next to him, watching old  _ I Love Lucy _ episodes for most of the day and laughing. Michael left them alone, telling her to call him when she wanted to go home.   
  
She had called Jasmine to let her know why she was missing, and also to get Jasmine to go to each of her professors and get her make up work. She planned to stay with her father for the next week, until she knew he would be all right on his own and she'd already looked into an in-home caregiver at the suggestion of the nurse. George had protested mightily to that, but Veronica worked him over with big tears in her eyes until he agreed to the help for a least a month. When she came home for her birthday, they would re-evaluate and decide if he still needed the help.   
  
She thought he'd fallen asleep because with her head on his shoulder she could feel his breathing, deep and rhythmic. Then his voice came quietly, saying, "So Lincoln performed CPR on me, huh?"   
  
"That's what I heard," she said, tilting her head up to look into her father's eyes.   
  
"Who would guess he would know something like that," George mused.   
  
"He said his boss made all of them take a class over the summer. Lucky for you, I guess," she murmured, feeling tears sting her eyes.   
  
"I think I was wrong about him, Veronica. I've watched him working on the house, and he's..."   
  
"I know, Daddy, you don't have to convince me."   
  
"He's married, though, still, right?" The arm around her squeezed her consolingly.   
  
"He's married."   
  
"But he went and got my girl and brought her back up here for me. And he's making Michael take care of you, good and proper, so..." he heaved a sigh. "Look, I need you to get him to come see me, so I can tell him, so I can apologize to him."   
  
She shook her head. "You apologize to him next week, when you're home and he's working on the house. I don't think it's a good idea for he and I to see each other. He already got into a lot of trouble with his wife for coming to get me." That was a lie on Veronica's part, because she intended to see Lincoln before she went back to school, but she didn't want it to be at the hospital, or in front of her father. She had some questions to ask him about Michael's 'inheritance,' and she didn't think it would be a pleasant conversation.   
  
George looked at her face intently. "I suppose I can understand why. Honey, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that it's still like this for you. I want to tell you you'll get over it, but..." he trailed off, unable to utter the truth.   
  
"I may not. I know. That's the worst part about it. I won't see him for ages, but when I do, it's like no time's passed. It's the same for him, which is sort of comforting, but..." she trailed off likewise, unable to admit she'd be happier if she knew Lincoln didn't care for her.   
  
She had thought of nothing but her father for three days straight, except for the few minutes right before she fell into an exhausted sleep each night. Those moments, lying on her bed, she remembered Lincoln's hands, and lips, and tongue and the pleasure speared through her, almost as potent as the actual event. The first night, after he had left her, she had curled up, sleeping soundly until about 7 o'clock the next morning. When she got up to take a shower, she'd been surprised by the slight ache between her legs, as well as the abraded skin of her inner thighs. During the moment, nothing but pleasure had assaulted her, but due to the fact that it had been late in the day, Lincoln's face had been covered with stubble, and the inside of her thighs showed that, as well as the tender skin on her breasts, belly and around her lips. She examined herself closely in the mirror, having never before thought of how a person could be marked by lovemaking. She had stood there, wishing the marks would never fade so she could always remember him against her.   
  
In the late hours after spending all day at the hospital, she lulled herself into sleep with thoughts of how amazing it had felt, how nothing she had read about or imagined had even come close to how it actually was. She also knew that she'd never be with anyone else that she wouldn't wonder how it would be with Lincoln, or remember how it had been with Lincoln, because it was exactly the way it should be. There hadn't been any fumbling, and except for a little shyness on her part, it had been perfectly natural. It had been heaven. And, it was incomplete. As wonderful as he had made her feel there was so much more she wanted to experience, but only at Lincoln's hands, only with Lincoln. Lincoln, Lincoln, Lincoln. She wanted to hate him for doing it because it proved everything she knew to be true about him, but she loved him all the more because it meant so much.   
  
Her father's voice brought her back from her dismal thoughts. "Sometimes, it's the knowing that tortures us most, sweetheart. Knowledge is a dangerous thing, for many reasons, the least of which is because knowing something is so much more than hoping or wishing. Knowing real love makes it hard to ever fall for the imitation."   
  
Veronica buried her face against her father's hospital gown, nodding her head. She cried long and hard, while he stroked her back, whispered soothing nothings into her hair and held her while she finished growing up.   
  


  
  


  
  
  
Lincoln sat in the living room on a kitchen chair, which he felt Lisa had left not as an afterthought, but as a  _ Here ya go, sucker _ -type gesture. The entire apartment, though small, held nothing except the bed, which had been Lincoln's and Michael's back in the day and no one would have wanted it anyway, his clothes, and this kitchen chair. Everything else, including all of LJ's belongings had been removed, all while he was at work.   
  
It wasn't surprising, she'd been threatening to leave for five days in a row because he wouldn't tell her what she wanted to hear, which was a recitation to the effect of, "I swear I'll never talk to, look at, or touch Veronica Donovan ever again, upon pain of death." The biggest explosion during the fight had been when he had loudly explained that he'd known Veronica longer than anyone else in his life besides Michael and he owed her something out of friendship. He'd watched Lisa swell up like a blowfish and scream, "What do you owe me, your wife, the mother of your child?" His sharp retort had bordered on vulgar and likened their marriage to the time he spent at Stateside, and that had earned him a stinging smack across his left cheek. Then, in an effort to keep his fists planted on his hips, he had gritted out between clenched teeth, "I won't promise to never see her again. You can threaten me till the end of fuckin' time, Lisa, but I won't promise you that."   
  
"Fine," she'd said, the word somehow shorter than four letters. Lincoln had been married long enough to know that fine never meant fine, but he didn't have the energy or desire to fight with her any longer. All he wanted was to be with Veronica, to make sure she was all right, but instead he'd sent Michael on the errand. Those next several days had been torture, as he went to work and came home and did everything in his routine as he always had, waiting for Michael to call, reporting on the status of Veronica's father and the general well-being of Veronica. He'd gone into the bathroom and cried tears of relief, privately, after Michael told him George Donovan had woken up at 100%. His tears were purely for Veronica, as there was no love lost between him and her father, and he didn't want to have to explain himself to his very angry wife.   
  
Today, when he'd gotten home to an empty house, he'd opened the first of several bottles of beer and sat himself down to have a little pity party. He knew Lisa had just gone to her mother's, who lived on the north side of Chicago, and he would go deal with that tomorrow. He'd already talked to Bill, and Bill said he could use the company's attorney to work out some sort of custody deal. There was no point in fighting for his marriage, it had never been real and there was no point in pretending it was. But he loved his son, and he would find some way for that to work between him and Lisa and LJ.   
  
In the meantime, he opened his fourth beer and drank it down in two long gulps. Despite his best intentions, despite the love he had for LJ, despite the fact that he wanted to make things white-picket-fence-like, there was never going to be anything like that in his life. There was never going to be anything like goodness. LJ was the only good thing, and he'd have to fight like hell to keep his son's love between Lisa's bad opinion of him and whatever he was bound to do to screw it up.   
  
He pressed his fingers against his eyes and settled on the floor, resting his back against the wall directly across from the front door. Popping the cap on his fifth beer in less than two hours, he sipped this one, instead of chugging it. He could tell he was going too fast because his thoughts continued to get more and more morose. Veronica's image was what popped up next, spread out beneath him, dewy and sweet. Of course, that thought just led him back to the fight with Lisa. She had known, like she could smell Veronica on him. Maybe he had just looked guilty, even though he hadn't felt sorry in the least. But that became apparent as the argument grew, because he wouldn't say he wouldn't see Veronica again. And what he was really saying was he didn't know if he wouldn't go back and finish what he'd started. It had already been a gargantuan effort to leave her satisfied physically, but not emotionally, forget about the raging needs of his own body. If given another opportunity, he didn't know that he wouldn't take it.  _ Take her _ .   
  
That wasn't true either. God, this was everything he'd avoided his whole life. Lisa had just been a buffer, an excuse, the reason to stay clear of Vee. When he'd gone up to the U of I campus and found where the dorms were located, he'd known, just like he'd known when he went with Michael up to the Loyola campus with his three boxes of belongings—he didn't fit there. They both were going places in the world. Their lives would consist of white-collar surroundings and people and things; Lincoln would forever be in the blue-collar world, or even the underworld. He would never fit with them, belong some place good the way they did. He would always belong on a street corner with something illegal in his pocket. Wanting Veronica, giving in just a little bit had nothing to do with his wife and everything to do with the rules he placed on himself. Telling himself he couldn't have her because of vows he made was just a way to lie to himself, to make it seem like there was a reason other than what he'd always known.   
  
He had champagne taste but only a beer budget. She was the kind of woman that a guy like Michael should spend his life with, have babies, mortgages and problems that they worked out at the end of the day. He'd encouraged them for as long as he could remember with teasing comments, and always at the back of his mind was the idea that if Michael had Vee then Lincoln would know she was all right, and he'd never worry about her. He'd also never have her for himself if she belonged to his brother, and that was just the kind of territorial strategy he needed to be able to withstand temptation.    
  
Lisa was exactly the kind of woman Lincoln should have: one he got pregnant, didn't love, and at the end of the day found he didn't even particularly like, either. He hissed a swear word as he looked around the empty apartment and took another swallow from his beer bottle. Garbage. It was all garbage, his entire life. The only good things were Michael and LJ and he didn't even know if he deserved to take credit for them.   
  
Closing his eyes, he rested his head against the beer bottle in his hand. He would just drink until he couldn't feel anything else that hurt his heart. And when tomorrow came, he'd deal with all that he couldn't face today. Of course, he'd do it with a raging hangover, but he couldn't bring himself to care about that right now.   
  
"Where's your furniture?"   
  
Lincoln's head jerked up and he saw Veronica standing in the open doorway, her hand on the doorknob. She looked around the empty shell of his house with a frown between her brows. "What are you doing here?" he demanded, anger lighting every nerve ending. He didn't need to see her now. Or ever again.  _ Damn her _ .   
  
Her eyes stopped searching for objects to rest on and came to a halt on him. The corner of her mouth went up and he saw the beginnings of pity in her face. It was pity, not love, he was sure of it. "I need to talk to you," she said, coming into the house, closing the door behind her. She approached him warily, as though she thought he was part rabid-dog. Sliding down the wall, she sat next to him, but not too close. Then she reached for the bottle and his fingers tightened for a brief moment before allowing her to pull it from his grasp. "How many of these have you had?"   
  
"A few," he responded, his bereft fingers itched to comb through her hair, which hung loosely around her shoulders, still obviously damp from a shower.   
  
"It's early, even for you, isn't it?" she asked, tipping the bottle against her own lips.   
  
"Lisa left me."   
  
"I sorta guessed."   
  
"She took LJ."   
  
"He's still your son, Lincoln. You have rights."   
  
"I know." He turned away from her, closing his eyes again. He couldn't look at her and not want to strip her naked, so he decided not to look at her at all.   
  
"Where did she go?"   
  
"Her mom's."   
  
"Because of me?"   
  
"No," he answered truthfully. "Because of me."   
  
"Because of you  _ and _ me," Veronica translated.   
  
"No. Because of me. Because I'm lousy at marriage, and relationships, and things that matter." He felt her go very still next to him, but he didn't open his eyes. He stretched his legs out in front of him and heaved a dejected sigh. Then her hand trailed up his elbow, sliding into the sleeve of his t-shirt, rubbing his bicep gently. "Don't, Vee."   
  
She laid her head against his shoulder, ignoring his command. "Where did you get the money for Michael to go to college?"   
  
He was expecting a come on, some sort of sexy banter, so his eyes popped open when she asked that question. "What?" he asked.    
  
Her hand stroked his arm, up, down, back and forth, but she tipped her face up so their eyes met over the length of his shoulder. "The 90 grand. There's no insurance money, is there, Linc?" She glanced down, then looked up at him through her lashes. "Because if there was money for you, you wouldn't be hiding it from Lisa. You would be set up in a house, and you'd be buying LJ presents, and you wouldn't be down on the corner selling weed."   
  
He moved back from her, putting enough space between their bodies so he could look her full in the face, but she didn't let go of his arm. "Why would I let Lisa know about money I don't want her spending?" he asked, his eyes narrowed slightly.   
  
She copied him, narrowing her own eyes, mocking him. "Why would you withhold money from your son? You wouldn't. You're not underhanded enough. You love him too much."   
  
"Oh, shut up, Veronica." He jerked his arm from her grasp and got to his feet, pacing away from her. "You really need to let the dream go. I'm not some stand up guy who would sacrifice everything. I have to have a plan. I have to know what the hell I'm doing, I can't just fly by the seat of my pants."   
  
"Exactly, so you tell Michael not to say anything to Lisa about your share of the 'money' and you tell Lisa there's only enough money for Michael and that's the plan. Lincoln Burrows, you can't fool me, so don't even try." She stayed on the floor, calmly watching him and drinking the rest of his beer.   
  
"You shouldn't have that," he said, eyeing the brown bottle.   
  
"I know. It's gross anyway. I don't even like the taste of it. I just like having my mouth where yours was." She threw him a wink as she tipped the bottle up again. Then she ran her tongue around the bottle's edge, watching him carefully. "So, you and Lisa are split up, then?"   
  
Lincoln's body reacted to the sight of her tongue and its flirtatious movements over the opening of the bottle, but his mind reacted with anger to his body's desires. "She left, that doesn't mean I'm in agreement. It doesn't mean I accept it."   
  
"So, you're gonna fight for your woman?" she asked, setting the beer bottle on the floor. She drew up one leg and looped her arms around it.   
  
"I'm gonna fight for my son," he corrected. He turned away from her and walked agitatedly towards the window. He pressed his forehead to the windowpane and gripped the wood paneling with his fingers. "Whatever Lisa wants, I'll give it to her."   
  
"Except that money," Veronica said, and he could hear the smile in her voice, the continued note of mockery.   
  
_ Except that I'll leave you alone, _ he thought viciously. "How's your dad?"   
  
"You know how he is, Michael calls you and tells you, doesn't he?"   
  
"Fine," he snapped. "How are you?"   
  
"I'm great. But I'm having a hard time figuring out why you're over there and I'm over here. You can lie all the day away, Lincoln. But I know you're free. Lisa told Michael when he called this morning that she was leaving, and to quote him quoting her, 'Lincoln can have his little Vee if he wants her.' Except now you're acting like you don't want me."   
  
"I don't," he muttered, pressing his head hard into the window.   
  
"What's changed since last week?" she asked. He hated that she was so mellow, and that she was asking him questions like she already knew all the answers. What he really hated was that it seemed like she did know, every tiny fucking thing about him. How could she have figured it out about the money? How did she know him so well? How could he ever get her to leave without accepting everything she was offering?   
  
"I'm not letting Lisa leave me."   
  
"Yeah, you really look like you're calling the shots around here," she flung at him, her voice finally showing some biting emotion.   
  
He spun away from the window and looked at her. He could feel it all flying up from somewhere deep inside, a whoosh of sensation from the pit of his stomach. "Look, you think you know everything about me, and maybe you do, Veronica. But really what this boils down to is that I took care of you. I helped you out and what did it do? It came back to bite me in the ass. So I'm fighting with my wife. She wanted to make a statement, so she packed her shit up and left. That doesn't mean anything. All it means is I've gotta pull my head out and get this together."   
  
She jumped to her feet, poised to attack. "Lincoln, you love me! Me!" She thumped her fist against her chest. "When you do this  _ dynamite feat, _ and pull your head out, get a fucking clue. You're wasting your life! And I don't mean what you're doing for a job, or if you're selling pot to twelve-year-olds. I'm talking about love! I'm talking about finally taking a chance on something that matters for  _ yourself. _ Quit giving Michael every damn thing he could ever want and give yourself something! Quit acting like you're your father! You're not. You did the right thing, you gave LJ your name, but you  _ will never love his mother. _ So love  _ me _ and show him that happiness comes in different packages sometimes, but it's still happiness!" She walked toward him slowly. "My father almost died! Everything that matters to me in this world is him and you and Michael. That's all I care about and I'm sick and tired of taking a back seat to your pride, or your obligations, or whatever the hell you've dreamed up in your head. I'm tired of being loved so much I never get touched. I'm tired of loving you and hurting inside because of it. I'm tired of the ache."   
  
She stood in front of him, her body trembling with emotion and all he could do was ask, "Then why don't you just tell me to go to hell and be done with me? Why do you always come back, Vee? I'm no good. It's always going to be fucked up."   
  
"No. No, it's not." She put her hands up like she was directing traffic. "Just stop, Lincoln." She pushed her hands against the invisible barrier between them. "Just stop." She took a step closer, then one more, so that her hands hit his chest, just below his shoulders.   
  
What he wanted was for her to slide her arms up around his neck, and then he would bend his knees to catch her just right against his body, pelvis to pelvis, hip to hip, soft to hard. He could turn her to the left and press her against the wall next to window, and with very little effort pull her pants down, open his fly and finally be right where he'd wanted to be since she'd developed breasts. It was a want, a need he'd been harboring for at least six years. But at the same time, he'd spent so long not taking, what had she called it?—loving her so much that he wouldn't touch her—and he just couldn't do it. He couldn't. He'd already done too many things that were going to keep him awake at night and if he did this, there would be no turning back, not for him, not for her. "I can't," he finally said, shaking his head. "I can't, baby," he whispered, somehow his lips right up against hers.   
  
One of her hands slid over his shoulder and up his neck to his cheek. Her fingers pressed lightly against his skin and she rose up on her tiptoes, bringing their lips more firmly together. "Yes, you can. You only call me baby when you want me so much you almost can't stop yourself." Pressing her lips against his, she completed the first part of his little fantasy, her arms hooking tightly around his neck. Before he knew it he had dipped his knees slightly and he was solidly planted in the small notch between her legs. Veronica let out a little breath against his mouth that was half excited  _ yes! _ , half a moan of longing. "If you stop this time, I'll kill you," she whispered, her arm curling around the back of his head to pull his lips to hers for a deep tongue-twining kiss.   
  


  
  
  
Veronica breathed deeply, her gaze held steadily by Lincoln's blue eyes, which were so dark with passion, she knew she'd never seen him this far gone before. It thrilled her so much that the pain she was experiencing just now seemed insignificant. She wanted him to look at her like this forever. "You okay?" he asked, his voice nothing more than a rough breath against her lips.   
  
She nodded, wincing slightly as her body adjusted to his weight. She ran her hands up his back, across the tense muscles and supple skin. She offered him comfort with a small smile. "It's supposed to hurt a little, Lincoln."   
  
"I don't want to hurt you at all," he muttered, holding himself very still. Sweat dotted his forehead and upper lip and she thought she'd never seen him look so beautiful.   
  
"It feels good, it's a good kind of pain," she murmured, shifting her thighs slightly, giving him just a little more room between them.   
  
"Oh, holy shit, Vee," he groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head. "Don't move, don't move, baby."   
  
"It's okay now," she said, experimentally rocking her hips.    
  
One of his hands was on the bed next to her head. He was leaning on his arm to hold himself up over her, but the other hand had been clenched on her hip, and now it tightened painfully. "If you move like that again, this will be over in a heartbeat."   
  
"We have all night, Lincoln, I'm not worried." Her hands slipped around his ribs and slid up his chest, skating over his nipples, drawing another tortured sound from his throat. "I owe you one, anyway, remember?" she asked, rocking her hips again.   
  
His hips jerked convulsively and she knew he had lost whatever control he'd had left. "Baby," he breathed, but then her lips reached for his and any words he might have had for her were lost in his groans of pleasure.   
  
She knew he was a big man, but his entire relaxed weight on top of her was eye opening. It felt wonderful, but she knew she couldn't take it for very long. Her hands continued to stroke him softly as the shudders worked themselves through his long frame. She turned her head slightly and pressed a kiss to his ear, since she could no longer reach his lips with his head buried in her hair. "I love you," she whispered.   
  
He made a sound that either accepted her declaration or agreed with it, she wasn't sure, but then he shifted to the right so that his weight lifted off her. His hand on her hip pulled her over so she was on her side and they were lying facing each other, sharing the same pillow. His eyes searched hers before he leaned in and kissed her again, his tongue sliding warmly against hers, a benediction to this round of lovemaking. She smiled when he pulled back because she knew that was only the beginning. His hand rubbed up and down her body and he pulled her closer, tucking her legs between his. "I'm sorry I hurt you," he said softly, and she didn't know if he meant by taking her virginity or by all the other things that had happened between them, but she didn't care so she responded with a soft kiss of her own at the corner of his mouth, saying, "Don't worry about it."   
  
"I'm in love with you, Veronica Donovan."   
  
"I know, Lincoln Burrows."   
  
"I don't know if this will work."   
  
"I do, so don't worry about it." Her hand curled around his shoulder and she said emphatically, "In fact, everything you worry about like that, just stop worrying. We belong together, and we'll make it work, whatever we come up against."   
  
He snuggled his face into her neck, his breath warm against her throat. "All right," he agreed, but she knew it was the lethargy of their lovemaking that made him so docile, well, that, and the beer he'd consumed. She also knew she would have to fight hard to keep him, but she had already come this far, and there was no turning back.


End file.
